


We're Here to Stay

by xstatic



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Merlin (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Arthur is Peter Parker, Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Crossover, Endgame deaths happened but Loki is alive, I guess this is technically also a crossover between Arthurian Legend and Norse Mythology, M/M, Magic, Merlin is Loki, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Reincarnation, Secret Identity, description of injury
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-04-23 04:45:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19143832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xstatic/pseuds/xstatic
Summary: After losing Arthur, Merlin withdraws for hundreds of years. The emerging presence of "Gods" on Earth — Asgardians — allows him a second chance he never imagined he'd get. Wiping his own memory and disguised as one of them, he is taken in by the King and raised into a new life as a prince of these people: Loki. This life keeps him entertained as he waits for Arthur's return, but with no conscious knowledge of his past.A teleportation spell falters as Loki tries to escape Thanos, and he is stuck in limbo for 9 years. When he is freed, 4 years after Stark's Snap, he senses that something on Midgard has changed, but he cannot use his magic to ascertain what. His world and sense of identity are shattered when he encounters Peter Parker — Arthur's reincarnation — and his memories as Merlin are restored.





	1. We're Still the Same

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is set in a universe where the events of Arthurian Legend occurred as they do in Merlin, as well as (slightly altered) Norse Mythology as according to the MCU. I'd recommend having at least a basic background of the show Merlin to understand this, but the plot here is all set in the MCU, in approximately the year 2027, so you probably don't need to have seen the entire show (though there are... heavy spoilers, of course).
> 
> A good number of the chapter titles (and the work title) are taken from the song King and Lionheart, by Of Monsters and Men!

Merlin remembered almost collapsing on the shore of the lake, after Excalibur was dragged into the water. He wasn’t quite sure if “remembered” was the right word anymore, since his memory functioned very differently now than it did then, but he could practically play the scene back in his mind. It had felt as if nothing should come after that. If he had fulfilled his purpose, then why did the universe keep him here? If he had failed, why was he allowed to continue living? He stayed there for what was probably too long, but time wasn’t working properly at that moment. He couldn’t place how many minutes — hours — he’d actually spent just raking his hands through the gritty sand, hoping to find something solid.

And so, all things considered, it had been easy to resign himself to an eternity of waiting. After all, he was _nothing_ without Arthur, and he had promised to be at his side always; there to watch over him, protect him, guide him when he was able.

After the shell-shock, he did. But it didn’t feel right to stay in Camelot for much longer. Not when Gwen rushed to pull him into a hug as soon as he returned, careful not to ask any questions, though he could tell the effort was killing her. Her hold had been almost suffocating, as though she thought he might disappear, too, if she didn’t grip him tight enough. His arms were reduced to lead, too heavy to return the embrace.

After only the first few days back, the looks that were cast at him from darkened corners —  a few accusatory, but most of them pitying — became nigh unbearable. The latter were the worse of the two. He didn’t mind that others blamed him, because the look on their faces was the same one he saw in the mirror.

He couldn’t stand the numbness at the formal funeral that he’d agreed to attend.

Merlin knew that all of this was his own fault.

 

So he left Camelot again with the blessing of the Queen, and began to travel. He stayed somewhat near the kingdom at first, terrified that if he strayed too far something would... _happen_ . Merlin didn’t know exactly _what_ would happen, but he feared it nonetheless. But for years, nothing did, and he eventually allowed himself some semblance of freedom. He of course returned to Camelot now and again over the years, and he was there when it inevitably fell- but it did not fall all at once, and despite his best efforts, he could not hold together a crumbling kingdom. _“That was Arthur’s talent, not yours,”_ a voice in his head whispered.

He did his best to help those who still lived. He cast potent protection spells on the people he cared about who were still alive (an intersection which dwindled more and more each year), and he left.

He didn’t dare look into their fates after the dust had settled, petrified of what he might find.

Merlin withdrew completely into a nomadic life after that, roaming across most of modern-day Europe — sometimes farther. He did not fear losing Arthur, as he’d become conscious that there was a powerful magical link still connecting him to the lake. He felt it in his bones, an anchor that intertwined their destinies and couldn’t be released even if he wanted to. He was sure that if something happened, he would know of it.

The years blended together, after the first hundred, and though his memory was much sharper than that of a non-magic person, the specifics of his past began to slip away from his conscious mind. It scared him when he discovered he could no longer conjure a mental image of his friends without effort. He took to writing in a large leather-bound journal, desperately inscribing everything he could remember from his childhood, when he arrived in Camelot, and up until Arthur’s death. He used his magic to sift back further through his memories, and occasionally illustrated full pages with detailed portraits of anything he could think of.

At first, he’d been set on devoting the rest of his time to helping as many people as he could. That’s what Arthur would have done, wasn’t it? But magic was still not accepted widely — far from it, in fact — and he grew deeply exhausted of solving others’ problems and receiving no gratitude. It had barely been tolerable before. On several occasions, he wondered whether the effort of waiting for Arthur was even worth it, although he always circled back to the same conclusion.

So when he heard whispers of _Gods_ in a northern land not terribly far away, he was compelled to see them for himself.

They were a race of people with magic — _people all like him_ — and they had captivated the inhabitants of Tønsberg with their use of it. Merlin watched from the edge of a crowd as what appeared to be a princely child conjured sparks of lightning from the tips of his fingers. It seemed as though the kingdom they hailed from accepted, even celebrated the use of magic, and this was something Merlin had always craved to be a part of. He’d never thought he would actually get a chance to.

The battle of Tønsberg, in which these “Gods” — they called themselves _Asgardians_ — raged against the Frost Giants, presented a perfect opportunity for the sorcerer. After the several centuries of practice he’d gotten with magic, the skills required to slip into the ranks of the Jotunn, manipulate the memories of their king, and create a disguise for himself were all within his reach. The final step, and the only one that brought him hesitation, was temporarily (or at least, so he hoped) wiping his _own_ memory. Merlin knew it was necessary if he wanted to go through with his plan, but he was terrified of the potential consequences of it. He could not be sure that it would lift when Arthur rose again, as he had designed it to, depending on how many years the spell lay dormant. Thus, he implemented something of a killswitch: if he ever encountered Arthur face-to-face, his old identity, memories, and abilities would instantly be restored. This was a much stronger trigger for the spell’s reversal; a last resort if all else failed.

And there was little doubt in his mind that he _would_ cross paths with Arthur. Their destinies lay together, after all.

His plan went off without a hitch, and he was taken in by the Asgardian King himself. Over the thousand years that he lived on Asgard, he became known to everyone, including himself, as Loki. _The God of Mischief_ , so dubbed by the citizens of Tønsberg that he had once stood amongst. Perhaps not as impressive as his adoptive brother’s title, but one that suited this new life. His earlier spell held up effectively, and Loki had no recollection of his previous identity.

 

And now, it had been almost nine years since Loki had faked his death — again — this time at the hands of the Mad Titan Thanos. Honestly, it hadn’t been his plan at first, but when faced with the possibility of such a disappointing death, he decided he’d rather not go out that way. The escape involved a magical cocktail of spells: cloning, teleportation, and invisibility, and the pressure of having only moments to accomplish this feat certainly didn’t help him conduct it safely. Loki had always had powerful magic, but this particular instance drained him to his core. Perhaps it was the influence of the infinity stones Thanos possessed, he couldn’t be sure — but either way, he was sent reeling. Literally.

An incorrectly performed teleportation spell — such as the one he’d attempted to get off of the ship after being initially freed — can have disastrous consequences. Rather than his intended destination and time of arrival (Anywhere Else and 5 seconds later, respectively), he woke up on the shore of a Midgardian lake, several years in the future. As he sat up and dragged his hands through the sand, he was hit with the heaviest wave of déjà vu he’d _ever_ felt. Weak, disoriented, and with no clue as to why the wormhole had deposited him at such a small, insignificant landmark, he went seeking information on the last (near) decade that he’d missed.

Because something had obviously changed. Loki was no empath, but he was observant, and as he traversed a nearby town, the way that Midgardians treated each other was just… different. They now made more eye contact than normal; they smiled at or occasionally greeted strangers that they passed. And while objectively that was, as most people would label it, and improvement, there still seemed to be some unmentioned, residual fear that made everything feel heavier. It was an uncomfortable atmosphere, and he thought the only natural course of action was to get to the roots of it.

That was how Loki found himself back in New York, of all places, looking for answers. He’d had to actually take a _plane_ to get there, since his botched spell meant that he was still magically spent. The whole thing was rather humiliating, and he disliked the experience just as much as he’d thought he would. It was unclear to him how even _humans_ managed to remain sane in the company of other humans for more than a few minutes.

It was early in summer, and not all that dissimilar to the last time he’d been in the city, as strange as that was to think about. Buildings rose high on either side of the street, but the clear, blue skies were still visible above. He wasn’t quite sure what he was looking for, as he strode down the sidewalk. Perhaps the Stark Tower, if it still stood — otherwise, any information he could glean from his surroundings would have to do. He expected that some superhero or another would drop from the sky to question him eventually, but at the rate his investigation was going, he wasn’t all that opposed to getting answers directly from the people who probably knew the most about it.

He _was_ slightly bitter that no one could recognize him, when his “disguise” consisted of a black suit and his hair tied into a bun. Pedestrians treated him no differently than anyone else, and appeared entirely oblivious to his identity. The curse of being the less famous sibling, he supposed.

Loki peered into shop windows as he walked, searching for _anything_ which discussed current events. Though he couldn’t find much media that referenced subjects older than a week, one line of text did catch his eye. “How the Tragedy of 2018 Still Affects our Mental Health,” was prominent on the cover of a propped-up book. Next to it, a similarly-styled book: “The Years We Lost”. Though these piqued his interest, and he took a mental note of them, his attention was quickly pulled away. A news program on a large screen directly across from him was broadcasting a large image of what looked like the Hulk, but... wearing more clothes than usual, and bearing a much more striking resemblance to Banner.

He had certainly been gone a while, then.

Out of the corner of his eye, Loki thought he saw a flash of red in contrast to the grey of the city. When he swung his head around to look at it, though, it had already vanished. He continued inspecting this particular area, since it had just given him two facts that shifted his entire worldview within the span of 10 seconds, and that was always promising.

It was almost comforting to know that the Avengers were as incapable as he remembered. Loki was able to gallivant through New York, a location he had almost destroyed, in broad daylight, without being so much as targeted by them. He felt rather confident in this assertion, too, until a kick that felt like it was delivered from the end of a pendulum hit him directly in the diaphragm. It was forceful enough to send him flying backwards several feet, slamming his back against the concrete of the sidewalk.

Loki opened his eyes blurrily, furrowing his brows at the figure standing over him. They looked like they belonged to the Avengers, he noted, though he did not recognize them whatsoever. He was unable to come up with much else in the way of intelligent thought, other than confusion as to why they were holding their arm outstretched in front of them, as though that was an intimidating stance. They didn’t even carry a weapon.

The assailant pulled off their mask, revealing what looked like a furious college student.

Loki almost laughed at that. He probably would have, too, if not for the onslaught of a sudden, agonizing pain that burned through his entire skull. It felt as though his brain was being rewired from the inside out. He clutched his hands to his head, rolling onto his side and just managing to stagger to his feet. One arm dropped to his side to shakily support his weight against the wall of the building behind him.

Loki was staring at his feet and focusing very hard on staying upright, but still highly aware of the strange not-Avenger-Avenger in front of him, who for some reason had elected not to capture him immediately. After taking a few short breaths in an attempt to not faint, he lifted his chin to stare directly into the face of the stranger. The expression in their brown eyes had shifted to one of shock, and almost… _concern_.

And everything flooded back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope y'all like this concept lmao, sorry there's so much backstory in this chapter, but I felt like it was needed to connect the storylines in a way that made sense. Let me know what you thought!!


	2. These Problems Aside

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for how long this chapter took! I was originally going to wait until after I saw FFH, but that mid-credits scene kind of threw a wrench in the plot lmao.

Loki — Merlin — he wasn’t quite sure who or what or where he was, only that he was in excruciating pain. Hundreds of thousands of neurons firing simultaneously to restore memories that hadn’t been visited for centuries tends to cause that.

But also that he was so _terribly_ happy and relieved to be…

What was it again?

_To be back with Arthur._

_Arthur, Arthur, Arthur_. It was the first word his brain could stitch together when he regained some of its function, and the only one he could process for some time after. (How much time, exactly, he wasn’t positive; that part of his brain was far from his first priority.) His eyes never closed, exactly, but he couldn’t really register what was in front of him.

But, still dizzy from shock or pain or any combination of the numerous negative emotions he’d just felt, he forced his vision to blur back into focus. The Sun seemed suddenly blindingly bright, and his eyes squinted reflexively. Though his thoughts still weren’t coming in full sentences quite yet, he was able to grasp the importance of his situation. Loki definitely didn’t feel stable, but at least he could see the figure in front of him — Arthur, he reminded himself, though he didn’t _look_ like Arthur — and, as a ringing in his ears that he hadn’t noticed was even there began to fade, hear the man as well.

He hadn’t moved an inch from where he was before Loki mentally checked out, but all previous hostility had melted from his expression.

He seemed to pick up on the shift in Loki’s lucidity, and cleared his throat, deciding to speak up.

 “You’re Loki, aren’t you?”

He blinked. Something about _that_ name coming from _Arthur’s_ mouth, but it wasn’t _really_ Arthur and Loki wasn’t _really_ Loki _or_ Merlin and — the cognitive dissonance of it all sent him spiraling. The city was loud, too loud, or maybe everything was too loud. He tried to ground himself, digging his nails into the wall behind him with far more force than necessary, but the damage had been done. 

He began to lose sight at the edges of his vision. Everything was spinning, and though he tried to fight it, the darkness was quickly dragging him down with it. He felt himself crumple to the ground, and though he wasn’t quite able to work out what it meant, he heard a frantic voice ask, “Karen, what do I do?!” There was a far away sensation of a hand clutching his arm before he fell totally unconscious.

  


* * *

 

Everything was white, and for a moment, Loki considered that he might be dead.

It wasn’t the furthest possibility, except for the fact that neither of the afterlives he’d known resembled his current location whatsoever.

The idea was further disproven when he attempted to move, only to find his hands shackled together in front of him. An uncomfortable weight on his head indicated that he was _also_ wearing something akin to that disturbing muzzle-like restraint he’d been given after he first faced the Avengers. He racked his still-sore brain — was that possible? He didn’t really care — for who could possibly see him as that much of a threat in his current condition.

Right. Fury.

There was nothing to be done with this information in an empty room, unfortunately. However, he knew he wasn’t truly alone. Whatever cameras were on him weren’t visible, he noted, craning his neck upward to check once more, but they were definitely there; S.H.I.E.L.D. simply didn’t operate any other way, and never would if it were still under that man’s jurisdiction. 

This room, if it could even be called a room, was the complete opposite of where he had been last. It was entirely _understimulating_ ; pure white, with no visible seams or corners whatsoever. And, as such, it was nigh impossible to know how large the space actually was. He couldn’t even tell if there was a wall across from him, though he could be sure of one wall at his back, that he leaned against as he sat with his legs stretched out in front of him. It wouldn’t surprise him if the entire rest of this “cell” was a projection.

With that, he let his head fall back against the wall behind him. He felt so completely and utterly _wrong_ at the moment, which he chalked up to having two identities, both of which were technically him, reconvene in one vessel, and being forced to reconcile that with his present reality. And being imprisoned.

Luckily for him, it was only a few minutes before he heard a door slide open in front of him, and tipped his head up to see. It was, indeed, Nick Fury who stepped into the chamber. Loki leaned to the right, trying to see out into the hall, but it was somehow pitch-black. Fury narrowed his eyes slightly, seemingly annoyed by his attempt — something which normally would please Loki to no end. But he wanted to stay on his good side at least somewhat _this_ time, so he settled back into place.

Fury paused a few feet into the room, folding his hands behind his back. “Why are you here?” He asked coldly. Loki rolled his eyes heavily, glanced down at the muzzle on his face, and then looked back up to meet his gaze. Fury made a noise somewhere between a sigh and a grumble, before shifting his stance to bring his arms in front of him, pressing a button on a device around his wrist with great reluctance. There was a series of clicking sounds as the restraint unlatched itself and fell away, landing to his left. Fury never broke eye contact throughout this interaction. 

Loki exhaled audibly in the silence that followed.

“So you’re just not going to say anything.” It was more a statement than a question.

Loki considered for a moment, opening his mouth. “I’d like to speak with the person who found me,” he responded finally.

Fury’s eyes narrowed even further, if that was possible. However — “That can be arranged,” he said, to Loki’s mild bafflement. He’d expected a flat-out refusal. But no, he turned on his heel and briefly stepped out of the cell, and Loki heard his muffled shout of “Parker!”

_That_ was something. Not much information, but more than he’d previously had. Either a first name or a last, though with Fury, it was almost certainly the latter.

After a couple minutes of indistinguishable voices and scuffling noises outside the door, it finally opened again. In stepped the same man who’d started all of this; Arthur’s reincarnation, presumably, or something to that effect. _‘Parker’_ . He was quite fidgety. Understandable, as Loki was scrutinizing him heavily. A small part of him felt that it recognized him, that he had hope again. The rest of him was strangely dissatisfied with this development. _This_ Arthur carried himself with none of the assuredness, charisma, or pompous air that he associated with _his_ Arthur. How could they possibly be the same?

He tried to set aside his doubts, but it was difficult when Parker still hadn’t even addressed him. He was currently staring down at the sneakers he’d put on over his suit, and wringing his hands. Loki cleared his throat, and his head snapped up, his eyes widening slightly with embarrassment. He sent a too-obvious anxious glance off to his right, confirming Loki’s suspicions that at least some of this room was, in fact, a hologram of sorts. He was curious how they managed to make the wall see-through for them and yet completely opaque for him.

Loki turned his upper body to face the same general side of the room and lifted one cuffed hand in a brief wave (or as close as he could get to one, at least) to the audience he was sure was just behind the projected wall of the cell. The motion didn’t go without notice, however, and though he was already rather short, Parker still managed to shrink in on himself. Loki instantly regretted it, as it meant another minute or so before any conversation actually happened.

“Uh, hi, again. Loki? Or, uh, Mr. — ”

“Just ‘Loki’ should be fine,” he said, somewhat amused by his attempted formality. “How did you find me?”

“Dr. Strange told me, he… do you know him?”

“That poor excuse for a sorcerer? Yes, we’ve met, unfortunately.”

“Um, anyway, he was busy, so he sent me to… ‘collect you’. His words, not mine.”

“And what a way with words he has. Did Fury tell you why he locked me up like this?”

“He said you were a — a threat.” He was now lightly scuffing the ground with one shoe, but clearly putting effort into not looking back down.

“Parker, do I look like a threat to you at the moment?”

He recoiled slightly at the use of his name, but recovered, still wary. “No, but I saw what you did to New York on the news. He has a reason not to trust you.”

Loki flinched at the mention of his past. 

“Oh shit, I’m sorry, I...” There was an awkward silence as he realized the harshness of his statement. “...Why did you want to talk to _me_ , anyway?” He asked.

Loki straightened his back slightly against the wall. “I thought you reminded me of someone I knew, but I... suppose I was wrong.” At this Parker simply looked at him with more confusion, almost on the verge of questioning what that meant; he didn’t get the chance to, however, as Fury reentered the room behind him at that moment. Parker turned around to look at him, before quickly stepping out of his way.

“Fury,” Loki said, “I’m afraid this truly is a misunderstanding.”

“No, _I’m_ afraid it’s _not_. Bringing you here was a necessary security measure, but it’s left us with more questions than before.”

Loki tilted his head slightly.

“Loki, what happened to you?” If Fury’s tone was anything to go by, he wasn’t asking out of concern, but genuine confusion. Loki simply furrowed his eyebrows.

“I haven’t the faintest notion what you mean by that.”

“According to S.H.I.E.L.D.’s records of you from 2012, your species registered as Asgardian. This time, the scans we ran on you _stopped functioning_ when they got to that question.” He added, almost as an afterthought, “We were also informed by Thor that you’d ‘actually died this time’, and you look like it, too.”

“Well,” He began, “I have been incapacitated in some sort of void since the last time my brother saw me. I would not be surprised if that affected my biometric readings. Coincidentally, that is also the only reason I’m even here.”

There was a long silence as Fury stared him down, searching for any hint of a lie in his statements. And while he had omitted several very important factors as to why his species would be called into question by a computer, it seemed that he still retained some of his innate ability to convince. Fury waved Parker out of the room.

“We’ll be monitoring your vital signs for a while.” With that, he exited, and the room was as blank as before.

 

* * *

 

He had no way to know how long it was before the door opened again. He’d stood up a few times and paced around, but it didn’t seem like the best strategy to try to escape and give them another reason not to let him out. Eventually, he’d returned to his wall to wait it out. It was honestly a somewhat refreshing break; keeping up the facade of someone _not_ going through multiple crises was more difficult than it sounded.

But the door did open again, and this time a new person stepped through it.

It wasn’t anyone he recognized, but she certainly fit the general look of a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. “You’re being released. Come with me,” She commanded, waiting expectantly by the exit.

_It can’t be that easy._

Hesitantly he stood and walked over, following her out. As he’d suspected, the hallway he stepped into was not as dark as it seemed from inside. It was fairly busy, with several agents travelling in both directions. Most ignored his presence, but a few — he could tell they were newer recruits — purposely looked away from him as they passed. As he reached the end of the hallway, he noticed Fury discussing something with Parker a few yards further into the room. He was surprised to see the latter still here; he certainly didn’t seem like he _worked_ for S.H.I.E.L.D., at least not full-time.

The agent who had brought him out went up to notify Fury, who nodded, quickly turning to cross over to him. Parker followed close behind. 

“You’re on probation,” Fury stated. “If you cause any disruption whatsoever, my people will not hesitate to neutralize you.”

“Lovely,” Loki smiled sarcastically. “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”

Fury sighed and nodded to a pair of agents who were waiting off to the side, presumably to escort him out of the facility, before leaving. Before the agents could move, however, Parker said something.

“Hey, I thought I should tell you, even though we’re probably not going to meet again, my name isn’t Parker. I mean — that’s my last name, but — just, uh, you can call me Peter. If you want.”

“Well, _Peter_ ,” Loki replied, “You’re awfully trusting to someone you saw destroy New York.”

“Yeah, well, I… I have this thing, I’m still not sure what it’s called _technically_ , but it’s kind of a sense I have for when something’s wrong. I usually get it when I see, like, a villain, or when something’s going to hurt me, but when I saw you, I didn’t get it at all. I dunno.” He looked sheepish. “That was weird, I’m sorry.”

Loki shook his head. “I don’t find that weird at all.” The agents in front of him looked rather irked by how long this conversation was going on, so he decided to cut it short. “Best of luck to you, Peter Parker.”

“You too,” he said, still looking a bit frazzled. Loki almost felt bad. It must be difficult to talk so casually to someone you saw summon an army of aliens to attack your city.

Regardless, he stepped forward, and the agents split to walk on either side of him as they approached a garage door of sorts. There was a mechanical hum as it rolled up automatically. It didn’t lead directly outside, but rather to a large hangar-like space filled with armored vehicles. The agents led him to one of the closer cars, and though he would have liked to sit in an actual car seat, one of them opened the doors to the back of it and ushered him in. He had to settle for leaning against the side of the car, which was an uncomfortable metal surface. The doors slammed shut, and he was in total darkness.

He couldn’t gain much from just the sounds outside the car, but he could hear a second, likely larger, garage door opening as the vehicle lurched forward. Then there was the crunch of gravel for some time, until they reached a much smoother, paved road. He could tell they’d reached the city when the stops of the car became more frequent, and his mind was much too exhausted to keep track of the numerous turns they took. Not that he particularly wanted or needed to, anyway. He closed his eyes and let the minutes tick past.

The car rolled to a full stop, and shifted into park. Finally. There were footsteps outside, and then the sudden flood of light as the doors opened again. One of the agents hopped into the back of the car with him, and put something over his head that fully blocked his vision. He just sighed resignedly. Fury was a deeply paranoid man.

Loki let the agents guide him out of the car and onto the curb. He nearly tripped over a set of stairs as they came to them, but somehow he managed to make it into the building they’d brought him to in one piece. They stopped, and one of them started to fumble with Loki’s handcuffs. He wasn’t sure how exactly they unlocked, but after a moment there was a clattering as they fell to the ground.

He immediately reached up to pull the blindfold off of his head, and by the time he’d discarded it to the floor, he was alone in the room. Distantly, he heard the front door of the building click shut.

_It was that easy._

Loki blinked a few times, his eyes still adjusting to the differing light levels. He seemed to be in an abandoned apartment —  in what looked to be a side room off of a kitchen, specifically. It was rather filthy and worn down, and clearly no one had been here for a long time. Even the graffiti staining one of the walls was starting to fade. 

He stepped out into the hall, and found himself a few feet away from the bathroom. Loki wasn’t sure why, exactly, he felt compelled to enter it; to step up to the cracked mirror mounted on the wall over a rusty sink, and actually _look_ at himself for the first time since he’d seen his reflection in the lake he woke up next to.

It looked nothing like him, and everything like him. The mere sight of his own face made his stomach twist. This wasn’t right at all. He braced his arms against the rim of the sink and stared himself down.

And he started to flicker.

That shouldn’t be happening. He didn’t have his magic restored yet. He wasn’t trying to shapeshift, and yet every few seconds he saw a different image flash across the surface of the mirror. Loki could feel his heart pounding, and he tried to focus on his eyes, which, now that he really looked, were _glowing gold_. He started to shift more rapidly, the new form now staying for seconds at a time, until it all stopped. He’d completely changed.

Loki reached up with a shaking hand to touch his face.

And he felt a surge of magical energy rush through him, and suddenly he was at the edge of a field, lying curled up on his side, coughing and wheezing.

The grass around him was scorched from the force of the spell.

He heard a set of footsteps on the sidewalk not 5 feet away from him come to a halt.

There was the clinking of a chain link fence being climbed over, and the thud of someone landing next to him on the other side. This situation couldn’t get any worse, so Loki forced himself to roll onto his back so that he could at least see the stranger.

“Oh my God, are you alright?” Asked a very worried Peter Parker, crouching down next to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loki's really Going Through It™ in this chapter. oof.


	3. We Moved Slowly

“Oh my God, are you alright?”

Loki half considered rolling back over and closing his eyes again. Pretending that the entire day had never happened. But as it was, he was exhausted, lost, and could tell that the Sun would soon set over the trees marking the other end of this field. Not to mention that somehow he’d been dumped at the foot of the very person — sort of — he’d been seeking for over one thousand years. It would be stupid to let him go now.

He saw such _genuine_ concern in Peter’s eyes, as well, which only grew the longer he put off answering the question.

“...No. I don’t think so.” He nearly jumped at the sound of his own voice. Obviously it would make sense for it to be different — the rest of him was different too, after all. But it was a voice he’d never heard before. It carried a Midgardian British accent, like his previous forms, but had a tone and cadence that differed from both. The whole ordeal was strange.

“Okay, uh... can you sit up?” Parker’s voice cut through his thoughts, and he nodded, pushing himself up with his arms. He became suddenly aware of a throbbing pain in his left hand and yanked it away from its point of contact with the ground, examining it. His eyes were watering, but as he blinked away the blurriness, he could see that a few of his nails had been mangled, broken halfway down. Dried blood coated the torn edges and tinted his fingertips red. Had he done that? How hadn’t he felt it? 

Somewhere in his damaged memory, Loki recalled recently crushing his fingertips into the wall of a building for stability. That would do it.

Shaking, he curled the hand in to his chest. He carefully avoided eye contact at the moment. Peter said nothing. From the side of his vision, Loki watched as he stood up and extended one hand. Still looking down, he took the offer with his good hand, and allowed him to hoist him up. He stumbled slightly over his new feet.

Shapeshifting normally felt so natural. Clearly he was rusty.

“Can I ask your name?”

Loki was the god of lies. This should be easy — except for the fact that it wasn’t. Maybe the question hit too close to home. What _was_ his name?

“Emrys.” _Incredibly_ creative. Not even technically a _lie_. It would’ve been much safer to pick a common name, and not be expected to explain it. Too late to change it now, though, he supposed.

Peter just nodded, mumbling something that sounded like “that’s nice”, and shoved his hands into the pockets of his hoodie.

“I’m Peter,” he scrambled to add after the pause, as though he’d just remembered how introductions work.

He glanced back down at the ground where Loki had lain. There was a vaguely person-shaped outline on the grass, drawn by ash. Markings spiraled outward from it, the same coal grey against faded green grass. Clearly this was supernatural, and Loki could tell that Peter knew that.

“Did you do that? Or did something happen to you?” Parker asked suddenly, shifting his gaze back to Loki. After a tense silence, he walked back on his question. “Sorry. That’s not, uh... small talk. Do you live anywhere close to here? I can walk you there.”

Loki, again, tried to come up with a lie, but there was nothing.

“I don’t really live _anywhere_ right now,” he said, truthfully. Asgard was gone. Camelot as well, certainly. If either of those had somehow changed in the time he was gone, he was clueless.

“Do you need somewhere to stay, then?” The invitation was given with zero hesitation. Gods, this young man was far too empathetic, but a place to rest did have appeal. Before Loki could open his mouth, though, Peter was talking again. “Shit. I’m being really overbearing. You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but, uh, I just thought I should offer. You seem like you’re not... in a great situation?”

Not much else could go wrong today.

“It’s alright. That would be —” he paused, trying to adjust his speech to a more casual Midgardian tone — “nice.” He attempted a polite smile, for the first time in quite a long time.

Peter returned it easily. “Right, okay, cool. You can follow me if you want, then, it’s actually not super far.”

Loki gestured to the fence that still separated the field from the sidewalk Peter had been walking down. “There’s a bit of a roadblock, isn’t there?”

Peter tilted his head slightly before taking a few wide steps back, a running leap onto the fence allowing him to nearly clear it all at once. It was extremely fluid. Practiced. He crouched at the very top and maneuvered to face back at Loki, holding out his hand like before.  
Loki had some skepticism that Parker would be able to pull him up at all, though he’d just displayed remarkable agility for a Midgardian. The fact that Asgardians — and Jotunn — have more mass than humans was made somewhat irrelevant now that he knew he wasn’t either, but in his post-revelation state he seemed to be left extremely uncoordinated. Not to mention his wound. Regardless, he grabbed Peter’s wrist just above the base of his hand, trying for the most stable grip possible. Parker tightened his own hold, and proceeded to pull Loki up as though he were a fucking _feather_. His shoes scrabbled against the chain-link for a better footing, until Peter helped him swing his legs over to the other side to sit at the top with him. Loki’s chest was heaving.

Peter pushed his sleeves up to his elbows before propelling himself off of the fence feet-first, barely fazed as he landed from the over-6-foot drop. If he was trying to hide the fact that he had powers, he wasn’t doing it exceptionally; then again, perhaps Loki only thought that because he already knew. 

Loki, understandably, hesitated to follow him. Parker turned and stepped back toward him.

“I can help you down,” he suggested, holding out his arms. Loki furrowed his brow, but after a moment of attempting (and failing) to strategize literally any better method, conceded with a nod. He pushed off of the top railing of the fence with his good hand, trying to keep his limbs clear of the sharp bits. Peter caught him around his waist easily, setting him down.

It was odd to be the less coordinated one for once, he thought. It almost felt like being back in Merlin’s place.

At least he was still taller.

He turned to face out across the street. They seemed to be somewhere on the edges of the city, though Loki had not enough knowledge of any Earth civilization to even _guess_ which part. Slightly run-down houses and empty lots were scattered along the opposite side of the road, along with sparse vegetation in between. A skyline of taller buildings was visible off in the distance to his right, barely clearing the top of a tree. 

Peter started off in that direction, half-turning as he walked to see if Loki was going to follow. Loki took another glance around, breathed deeply into new lungs, and did.

 

* * *

 

His hair was short.

That was odd.

Loki was standing in the slightly grimy but altogether average bathroom of Peter Parker’s apartment, and staring into a smudged mirror at a face he partially recognized, and his hair was short. Somehow he hadn’t realized it before, though he was sure he’d _seen_ it. 

He reached both hands up to comb through it, only remembering his injury when his left hand stung as he did so, and he quickly brought it back down to his side. Regardless — his hair was still the same color. It was slightly more textured, and it just barely fell past the tops of his ears.

He didn’t know why this change seemed to be more of a shock than anything else, but he didn’t care to dwell on it.

Loki reached forward, turned on the faucet, and moved his wounded hand under the stream of water. He winced; somehow it was much more painful than he’d been expecting. Nevertheless, he did his best to rinse away the blood and dirt, and carefully dabbed it dry with a towel.

He let out a long breath.

Peter was waiting outside in what might be called a living room. It was just a couch — which he was sitting on — against a wall with a coffee table in front of it, around the corner from a small kitchen space. Parker had his legs crossed up on the couch, and despite seeming very absorbed in his phone, looked up only a moment after Loki stepped out of the bathroom. He set his phone beside him on the couch and stood up, instead picking up a pile of cloth that Loki hadn’t noticed previously. He crossed the small room with just a few steps.

“Hey, I’m sorry that it’s not… much, but I have these clothes that are a little big for me, so if you needed any, uh.” Peter vaguely gestured with one arm, and held out the clothes to Loki with the other.

“Why do you have them if they don’t fit you?”

“Huh?” Peter looked lost, as though it was obvious. “They’re mostly hand-me-downs, and I can’t really afford not to keep them.”

Oh. Loki’s jaw clicked shut and he nodded once, in what he hoped conveyed both confirmation and understanding, as he gratefully took the clothes.

“The guest room is over there,” Peter pointed to the door to the right of the bathroom. “It’s empty. It’s mostly just for my aunt, and she hasn’t been over in a while, so.” He shrugged as a substitute for the end of the sentence.

There were several seconds of tense silence, Loki unsure of when he should exit the conversation, but with no idea of what he could add to it. Thankfully Parker’s phone rang, and Loki took that as his cue to leave, with Peter already moving to pick it up. He turned around to enter the room he was being lent.

It was a rather nice reprieve from the chaos that had been the past day, to be able to shut a door behind him and feel both privacy and comfort. Glancing around, there was a bed against the middle of the wall, with enough space opposite it for a dresser, and a chair placed in front of the single window. Loki flicked on the lightswitch — the darkness of evening was actually beginning to set in — and the room lit up with a warm glow. 

He tossed the pile of clothes onto the bed and briefly thought of changing into a pair, but ultimately decided that that was too strangely intimate of a gesture at the moment. The clothes his magic had created for his new form (if that _was_ what had happened — even Loki wasn’t sure) seemed modern enough, and weren’t uncomfortable just yet.

Loki’s eyes were stinging, and his bones were weary from some sort of exhaustion, magical, physical, or otherwise.

He intended to sleep.

Of course, that intention went directly out the window when he heard the tone of voice Parker had shifted into during his phone call. He hesitantly crept back toward his door and pressed one ear to the seam where it met the wall.

“You just… _lost_ him? How?”

Silence.

“Alright, sorry, I just don’t know if —”

Loki could hear him pacing in the living room.

“Fine. Yeah, I’ll — I’ll let you know.”

There was an audible, exasperated sigh, and then nothing. Loki quickly withdrew from the door.

Suddenly he was no longer tired.

There was not much to do at the moment, and the last thing Loki wanted was to draw attention to himself by leaving the room, so he set about performing small tasks: placing the clothes into the empty bureau, closing the curtains, straightening out the furniture. It felt routine, oddly, as he hadn’t had to take care of such menial chores for over a thousand years. 

He’d just sat down on the edge of the bed when he heard a knock at his door. It took him a few seconds to realize that Peter was waiting for him to respond.

“Come in.”

After a slight pause the door swung open halfway, and Peter took one step into the room before leaning against the doorframe. He cleared his throat.

“I need to ask you something?” It should have been a statement, but the way Parker’s voice tilted up at the end of the sentence made it sound like a question in and of itself.

“Of course.”

“Alright, I don’t know how much you remember — you seemed pretty messed up back there — but, uh,” Loki watched as Peter picked at his sleeves, pulling them down over his wrists one at a time, “do you have powers?... Are you enhanced? That — whatever magic dropped you there, it looked pretty powerful.”

A spike of adrenaline shot through Loki, and he answered on some half-buried instinct before he even realized the words were leaving his mouth.

“I don’t have magic.”

Peter was visibly surprised by the strangely worded answer, and likely also by the forcefulness in Loki’s voice. He recovered quickly, however, and nodded.

“Do you remember what happened before that? Was someone trying to hurt you?” Peter asked.

“I don’t,” Loki lied. “I’m sorry,” he added, truthfully.

“No, it’s not your fault. I just wanted to make sure you’re not in danger.”

This caught Loki somewhat off-guard. It took him a moment to compose himself.

“...Alright.” (Not quite as composed as he would have hoped.)

There was a pause. Peter was obviously still curious — it was etched into his expression — but he asked no further questions, other than “do you want some water?” which Loki politely declined, despite actually being quite thirsty, now that he thought about it.

Which brought him to the conclusion that his current form was decidedly not Asgardian. If it were, he’d not be feeling so generally weak to mortal needs, or so affected by the wound on his hand. He set the hand in question on his lap without thinking, thereby accidentally revealing it to Peter, which he’d been trying to avoid doing for the entire evening. His host visibly winced at the sight of it, and indicated for him to wait as he dipped out of the room. He returned a couple minutes later with a bottle of antiseptic spray, to which Loki acquiesced. 

He did his best to disinfect the torn flesh and nails. It stung, but the process was a relief in its own right. When he finished, he looked up to see that Peter had set on the nightstand a mostly-depleted roll of gauze. He was hovering by the door and looking out toward the window, likely waiting for Loki to dress the injury, but not actively trying to engage with him in the meantime. Just being present.

It was oddly a bit comforting.

Loki managed to wrap his hand, only flinching once or twice. As he placed the first-aid supplies back on the table, Peter was already moving to pick them up, clearing them out of the way.

“You should probably sleep. If you’re tired, I mean,” Peter said. “I’m just going to be out there, if you need anything.” He lifted one arm to indicate the living room.

He was already halfway out of the room before Loki could call, “Thank you,” through the doorway. His voice was slightly strained, but he _meant_ it.

“You're welcome. Goodnight,” came the slightly muffled response as Peter closed the door behind him.

Loki spent the next several minutes staring off into space, not so much lost in thought as lost in silence, and hesitant to do anything else. Eventually he decided that rest would probably be worth it to help his feeble condition. He stood briefly to hit the light switch, before sitting again to remove his shoes. He pulled his legs up onto the bed and lay down on top of the blankets, not quite comfortable enough in a stranger’s — well, “ _s_ _tranger”_ was debatable — home to mess up the guest room too much. 

Loki tried to keep his eyes closed, even as one thought caused his heartbeat to quicken.

_The next time he woke up might be to S.H.I.E.L.D. breaking down the door._

He internally reprimanded himself for not noticing that they’d had him under surveillance. By all accounts, he should have known better. His one saving grace was that Peter didn’t seem to be particularly suspicious of him yet, beyond asking if he had powers.

His eyes opened slightly. The faint warm glow coming from below the door eased his nerves.


End file.
